


If The Spirit Moves You

by Wand_of_Thunder



Category: Ant-Man (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Baking, Darcy Lewis is Tony Stark's Daughter, Dirty Scrabble, F/F, F/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Smut, a cockblocking parrot, not so private sexy times, secret blowjob, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-12 23:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10501572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wand_of_Thunder/pseuds/Wand_of_Thunder
Summary: For the Darcyland April Fool's Smut ChallengeTitle from Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On"Let me groove you goodLet your love come down





	1. Day One: Crazy Euphemisms

**Author's Note:**

> Darcy and Bucky in the kitchen.
> 
> Baking kink?

Cookies and Cream

Darcy groaned, catching her reflection in the glass door of the convection oven as she slid another full cookie sheet in to bake and set the timer. The left side of her dark brown hair was caked with white, evoking comparisons to evil women that kidnap puppies to make coats. _Typical._ No matter how old or experienced she was, somehow she always managed to get flour absolutely everywhere when she baked, like an overzealous child.

She frowned and doubled over, trying to shake the flour out of her curls, but it didn’t accomplish much more than changing her look from Cruella De Vil to more Crazy Cat Lady from the Simpsons.  

“Well then,” Darcy huffed, pulling back the grey-ish, tangled mess she had made of her hair back into a ponytail. With the oven going it was too hot in the kitchen to have her hair down anyway.

“Nice ‘do,” came a soft yet teasing voice from behind her. She spun around to find Bucky creeping around the corner into the kitchen. He had his face tilted up and was sniffing the air, clearly having followed his nose like a wayward beagle.

Sometimes, it was shockingly easy to forget that this man was a lethal weapon with a body count that nearly rivaled the entire population Liechtenstein. There were moments, mere glimpses really, when he seemed more like a shy puppy than a man, still tiptoeing around people and not quite confident with his place in the world. It was endearing in a way that brought out the protective instincts in Darcy.

Bucky also had a sweet-tooth so strong that part of her suspected that he only came out of his shell around her because he thought it’d get him more baked goods.

_(Which wasn’t exactly wrong)_

“Thanks! I’m trying out a new look.” She beamed at him and struck a pose as he made his way fully into the room.

“Suits you,” he laughed. His own hair was wet and slicked back, like he had just gotten out of the shower, and was soaking a half-moon around the collar of his grey long-sleeved t-shirt.

It was distracting, to say the least, especially considering the fact that she had _intimate_ knowledge of what Bucky looked like in the shower. Soaking wet. Sans shirt. Sans  _everything._

Their cute, innocuous flirting relationship had morphed into something decidedly less chaste over the last couple of weeks, while the two of them were alone at the compound. The team had been away on a scouting mission and without the constant presence of their friends and coworkers, Darcy and Bucky unintentionally sort of _fell into_ one another …more than a few times, in increasingly enthusiastic and creative ways.

But now everyone was back and they hadn’t had a chance to talk about where they stood, and Bucky was still walking around being all sweet while simultaneously being devastatingly sexy. And yeah, maybe it wasn’t the _worst_ problem to have, strictly speaking, but it was still a problem.

Were they _together_? Just friends that participated in sexy, extracurricular activities? Was it only a convenient fling? Would it be inappropriate to lean up and lick the wayward drop of water beading down the side of his neck? Darcy shook her head, trying to get rid of the nagging, intrusive thoughts and steer her mind back towards baking.

And failed spectacularly.

“So, you’re uh baking?” He asked, his laughable attempt at nonchalance breaking the encroaching awkward silence.

A leading question if she’d ever heard one. His eyes had wandered from her face to the counter where neat rows of buttery cookies were lined up to cool, the clear source of the delicious smell that had enticed him into the kitchen in the first place.

Darcy rolled her eyes, fondly exasperated. Cookies. Of course that’s why he was there.

“They’re for after the ‘welcome home’ dinner.” She had painstakingly cut out perfectly triangular cookies and planned on piping the Avengers’ ‘A’ logo onto all of them once they cooled enough. It made her feel more useful, providing the team with special, homemade treats after a long mission.

“Oh, right. Of course.” Bucky flashed her a small smile then slumped against the counter, doing an even more terrible job at hiding his disappointment.

Darcy sighed. _Lord help her_ , this man was all sorts of trouble. She was sure she’d do _anything_ just to brighten his day. “You can be my taste tester if you help me with the royal icing,” she offered.

“I’d love to be your taste tester, sweetheart,” he replied, jumping up from his slouch and tossing Darcy a wink, earning himself a laugh in the process.

And a poorly hidden blush that she tried desperately to suppress as she ducked below the counter to retrieve the metal mixing bowl from one of the cabinets. “Okay, wash and dry the measuring cups for me, will you?”

“You got it, Chef!” He sauntered over to the sink, but stopped to goose her backside as she was bent over trying to wrestle the rest of the stand mixer out.

Darcy shot up with an indignant squeak. “You little – Hey!” she sputtered, cheeks redder than ever.

“Sorry, Doll, but you said I should help. Just checking to see if your buns were ready. ” Twinkling blue eyes searched her face and he smirked again when he found her biting her lip and smiling rather than offended. It was an exercise in restraint for Bucky not to bend down and kiss each plump, pink cheek of the tiny woman in front of him.

“God, that was the _worst_. Buns and cookies aren’t even alike, Barnes!” She gave him an affectionate shove back towards the sink and the task she’d given him, her stomach flipping and flopping delightfully. He laughed and rolled up his sleeves then went right to work, that little smirk seemingly glued to his handsome face.

Despite it's terrible, cheesy nature, the pun (and preceding ass grab) had loosened the awful, twisted knot of doubt and second-guessing that had taken up residence in her head. It wasn’t gone, there were still some adult conversations to be had, but it felt good. A reassurance that she wasn’t just some plaything to keep him occupied while his friends were gone.

Plus, it was always nice when someone let you know they appreciated more than just your _literal_ baked goods.

“Would you prefer that I keep my double-entendres culinarily accurate while I help?” He turned to leer at her as she finished putting the mixer together on the counter top.

“Go for it, dude. I could always use a good laugh,” Darcy, her confidence boosted, gave Bucky’s butt a good squeeze of her own as she passed him on the way to the pantry to get the dry ingredients for the icing. “Plus I might be here a while. There are about thirty cookies to frost once we finish this.”

“Darling, I’d more than happy to frost your cookies for you,” he paused, an impish grin on his face. “And help out with dessert too.”

That one had her letting out a breathless chuckle. “One thing at a time, solider.”

They worked together remarkably well, Bucky having absolutely zero problems taking orders barked at him from a petite brunette with flour caked in her hair. He also turned out to be rather skilled in separating egg whites, his metal hand neatly cracking the shells and straining out the yolks. Darcy would have to rope him into helping out in the kitchen more often.

Once the mixer was going and the icing thickening, Darcy left Bucky in charge of adding the last bits of the confectioners’ sugar and red coloring to the mix while she took the last of the cookies out of the oven and laid them out to cool. When she turned back around, she found him with a finger halfway to his mouth slathered with a large dollop of the icing he was supposed to be minding.

“Ah uh! Baking rule number one mister; No fingers in the mouth!”

Bucky glanced at his finger, looked back to Darcy and shrugged. “No problem.” He then reached forward and smeared the glob of icing right on her nose. “Don’t have to use my fingers.”

“Gee thanks, now my nose will be all red and-” her words caught in her throat when Bucky leaned in and sucked the icing of her nose, his tongue lingering over the very tip. Her eyes fluttered close as he diligently cleaned her face of all traces of red icing.

“Mmm sweet.” He licked his lips as he straightened. Darcy’s eyes popped open and followed the movement raptly. “But I know something sweeter.”

Two large hands - one flesh, one metal, but both pleasantly warm - gripped her hips and tugged her flush against his body. Her face tilted up as his bowed to bring their lips together in a pressing kiss. After nearly two weeks of practice, they had perfected this dance; their bodies moving in sync, like sexual muscle memory. Darcy moaned against him, her hands flying up to clutch at his broad shoulders. She could taste the sugary burst of the icing on his tongue and sucked it into her mouth, greedily seeking more. Bucky tore away with a groan, his eyes wild and his chest shuddering with each labored breath.

“How long?” he rumbled, his rough voice making Darcy's inside turn to molten lava. 

She couldn't concentrate on the question, didn't even know what he was asking, because his hands had moved from grabbing her hips to rucking up the skirt of her dress and kneading the delicate skin of her upper thighs. "W-what?" she sounded drunk to her own ears. 

“You said the icing had to mix. How long?" His hands were now on her ass, simultaneously snaking under her panties and pulling her pelvis closer to rub against the hard bulge in his jeans. 

How he was still able to be coherent while Darcy herself felt like her brain had been replaced with chocolate pudding was beyond her.  _Think, goddamnit woman!_ "F-f-five minutes," she stuttered. The index finger of Bucky's metal hand found her clit and she yelped. 

“Guess I’ll have to be quick then.”

If she had blinked, she would have missed it. The lightning quick way he yanked her panties off and scooped her onto the countertop next to the stand mixer. But her eyes were wide and alert, completely enraptured by him - the way his muscles moved under his clothes, the ease in which he lifted her, his steely eyes that gleamed with a hunger that was almost _palpable_. Her body may have recognized his, but her mind was still in awe, like every time was that first night when they defiled the common room's couch together. 

Bucky kissed her again, crowding her, leaning his weight into her until Darcy had to reach back and brace herself. Then he shocked her by dropping to his knees on the hard linoleum and placing a hand on each of her knees, gently encouraging her to open for him. "You did say I could be your taste-tester, right?" His way of asking permission while still being playful. 

"Yes, yes please," she whined, not even cognizant of the fact that they were still in the very public kitchen, or that the harsh fluorescent lighting might not paint the most flattering picture of her bare and exposed. Because she could feel his warm breath on her cunt, and the vibrations under her naked ass from the whirring mixer next to her, and there was no room left for feelings like modesty or embarrassment.

Bucky dived in before the word 'please' had even died on her lips. No pretense, no teasing. A man with a mission and a clock to beat. He held her open with one hand and attached his mouth to her swollen clit, sucking and flicking his tongue in a way that had her thighs shaking and her eyes rolling back in her skull. It skirted the edge of 'too much' deliciously, Darcy having to clamp her ankles around his shoulders to keep from wildly bucking her hips off the counter, one hand reaching out to tug on his long, damp hair. 

"God, so close, Bucky - YES!" she cried out as he added two fingers inside her and pumped them in time with his tongue movements. If she wasn't so far gone, she'd be able feel him fighting a satisfied smirk against her cunt.

"Don't stop, dontstopdontstopdontstop!" Darcy came with a wordless cry, her hips locking and her back arching.

Bucky found himself squeezed almost painfully between her legs. He helped her come down. Massaged her clenched muscles. Pressed soft kisses to her overly hot skin. Whispered sweet praises. Until she relaxed enough for him to remove his fingers and stand back up. Immediately, she latched onto him in a hug, her wobbly legs wrapping around his waist and hooking him in. Darcy sighed contentedly, still shaking like a leaf.

"Mmmm best cookie I've ever tasted," he said against the side of her neck, punctuating the words with a nip at the soft skin there. "And two minutes to spare."

Darcy laughed, loud and bright, the sound echoing off the spartan kitchen walls, and settling deep in his chest along with the other bits of  _her_ that were slowly overtaking all the murky, damaged pieces of his heart.

 


	2. Day Two: Ridiculous Adjectives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy and Clint play a high stakes game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First time writing this pairing, but this is the perfect time to try new things! 
> 
> Also, I'm playing fast and loose with the rules of Scrabble here folks.

Triple Word Score

“Ha, See! No proper nouns. Steve is a name. Against the rules, Darce!” Clint waved the official Scrabble rules webpage he had pulled up in his phone in his opponent’s face.

Darcy batted his hand away and sneered. “But _we all_ use it as a verb now. You know, _to steve_ – the act of stupidly jumping off of really high things without a parachute. _You yourself steved the other day!”_

“No dice, woman, but nice try.”

“Whatever, I’m still winning so…” She carefully picked up the tiles she had just tried to play and added them back to her collection of letters. “Didn’t know you were the Scrabble police. That a SHIELD division?”

“Ma’am, I’m gonna need you to spell a word or forfeit your turn,” Clint drawled in his best approximation of a cliché highway cop. Darcy pursed her lips, clearly fighting off a laugh, and contemplated her tiles.

“Wait a second.” She leaned over the card table and added an –ING to the word ‘QUIVER’ that he had played last turn. “Bam!” She placed the ‘G’ on the bright red square with an extra flourish. “I’m sorry, officer, but you’re gonna have to call for backup ‘cause I’m killing it!”

“Aw, triple word score,” Clint groaned. He should have just let her play ‘Steve’.

Darcy Lewis was a beast when it came to board games. She was legend at the Tower. Even the most competitive of the Avengers no longer dared to go up against her. She once made Tony Stark cry after a 5 hour game of Risk.

“66 points, buddy! You know what that means.” She grinned manically and rubbed her hands together like an overzealous supervillain.

“I don’t even know why I play with you.” That was a lie. Clint knew exactly why and that sweet, _butter wouldn't melt in my mouth_ smile she was giving him was a huge part of it.

But the main reason he continued to willingly get his ass kicked at every product Milton Bradley and the Parker Brothers hawked was the spin Darcy would put on the games when it was just the two of them. She had the God-given gift of taking even the most innocent, pure game and twisting it into a way to get naked. It was like their foreplay.

Strip Sorry.

Strip Battleship.

Strip _Trivial Pursuit_.

And, one memorable night when they were stuck in a safe house with no power and nothing to entertain themselves, Strip Rock-Paper-Scissors.

Tonight it was Strip Scrabble, which in retrospect was a terrible idea since Clint had trouble spelling at his _best,_ nevermind sitting horny and frustrated across from a beautiful woman that _might_ take her clothes off. Rules were every thirty points scored the opponent had to remove an article of the scorers choosing. So far, he had lost his jacket and his sneakers. Darcy was only down the cardigan she was wearing when they started. But 66 points meant-

"Shirt and pants, please and thank you!" Darcy was positively gleeful, leaning back on her chair.

"C'mon Darce, can't we make a different rule for special squares? And I mean what kind of word is 'quivering' anyway? We playing Scrabble or are we writing a harlequin novel?" He stalled, knowing that the first one to get nude was subject to the sexual whims of the winner. Clint really wanted to win for once.

"It's a legal word. And something you won't be seeing me do tonight unless you lose the duds, Stud."

"Fine, fine." Clint stood up and gripped the hem of his shirt.

"Wait!" She interrupted, throwing her hands out to stop him. "Do it slow."

"You just wait 'til it's your turn," he muttered, dragging the cotton shirt up and over his head slowly, like demanded. Though, it was a massive boost to the ego, seeing the way her eyes went wide and pupils dark as she took in the slow reveal of his contoured abs and strong, lean shoulders.

The pants went next, just a pair of loose fitting sweats that he'd thrown on that morning. He kicked them off and did a little turn in his boxer briefs, holding his arms out for Darcy's perusal. "Good?"

"Perfect," she answered, her voice huskier than a few seconds ago. Her fingers were less than steady when she reached into the Scrabble bag for replacement tiles. Clint's ego, and maybe something else, swelled some more. "Your turn."

Clint sat back down, now not only distracted by Darcy's affect on his libido, but also chilly. He looked at his letters, his brain having a helluva time thinking about anything but _getting warm_ with the woman in front of him. He had an 'S' and an 'E' but no 'X' to be found. and he was almost positive 'LARNCES' was not a word. But then-

"Carnal!" he shouted, using an existing 'A' to make the word. It brought his score up 57. One more turn and it'd be his turn to demand some skin, and he was getting pretty desperate.

Darcy laughed, her cheeks flushing. "Huh, that's funny. Thought we weren't writing a romance novel?” She used the ‘L’ from his ‘CARNAL’ and spelled 'SLICK'. "Not that I'm complaining."

It devolved from there, Clint countering with ‘TURGID’ which had Darcy losing her shirt (and snorting laughing), and in turn him losing the last remaining smidgen of his cool. She could see it all over his face, his restraint holding on by its fingertips. Yet, judging by the pulsing twitch of his jaw, he remained determined to see the game through.

It was admirable, and actually quite _sexy_. But now Darcy's own restraint was slipping and she had no plans on hanging onto it any longer.

"My turn." She leaned over, resting her lace clad breasts on the table, and shuffled some of the tiles already on the board. Before Clint could protest, she quickly spelled out a message that was decidedly _not_ in the official Scrabble dictionary.

'FUCKME'

"Seriously? But the games not..." he trailed off, practically drooling as Darcy stood up and made her way over to his side of the board, kicking off her shoes and shucking her jeans in the process. 

"I don't care," she straddled his lap, grinding down her  _slick_ pussy on his  _turgid_ erection. His rough hands automatically shot up to cup her tits, snaking under the cups of her bra. "Just fuck me."

Never one to disobey a direct order from a mostly-nude woman, Clint surged to his feet, clutching Darcy tightly with one arm and using the other sweep the table clear. Scrabble tiles scattered to floor, clacking and bouncing on the hardwood floor. Neither cared nor noticed. He perched her on the edge and made quick work of their underwear, fumbling at the sight of Darcy reaching back and unclasping her bra.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he rasped, reaching out for her, the worn callouses on his hands catching like fine grain sandpaper on her smooth skin.

She tugged him into the cradle of her hips and yanked him down for a hot, open mouthed kiss. Clint loved kissing Darcy, even the smallest of pecks were exciting. She kissed with every part of her, taking and giving with a passion that he found intoxicating. Not breaking the press of their lips, Clint lined himself up with her cunt and pushed in.

Darcy gasped against him and raked her nails down his back to grip the flesh his ass. " _God, yes_."

He moaned and picked up speed, gradually going from thrusting to pounding. She cried out, her fingers digging in hard enough to leave angry, red marks. He yelped at the bite of pain mixing exquisitely with the pleasure of being inside warm, soft Darcy. It spurred him on. Had him tilting his hips and changing the angle, making her let out a hoarse shout and the card table let out an overtaxed groan.

It wobbled dangerously under them, protesting each movement with an increasingly alarming creak. Luckily, before it gave up on them, Clint had the brainpower to spare to grab love-drunk Darcy and lift her up. As he plopped down on his chair with her astride him, still connected, the poor abused table collapsed, clunking to the floor.

It startled a laugh out of the pair, Darcy giggling madly and Clint falling victim to its infectiousness. He could feel the little contractions of her laugh around his cock, and his own chuckle turned into a drawn out moan. "Darcy." His voice was wrecked and steeped in desperation.

She got the picture, bracing her toes on the floor and using the leverage to bounce up and down, grinding her clit on his pubic bone. His hands found their way back to her breasts, guiding each rosy nipple into his mouth in turn. He flicked his tongue over each stiff peak, concentrating on spelling out random shaped and letters to stave off his approaching orgasm. The way she was moving, squeezing him on each down-stroke was driving him mad.

Eventually, Clint just gave up and snaked his hand in between their bodies, finding her clit and rubbing the little pearl relentlessly until the woman on his lap was shaking and yelling and writhing on top of him. As she fluttered with the aftershocks, he planted his feet, gripped her hips and thrust up into her. It didn't take long until he was coming too, his toes curling and breath hitching. 

"I love gamenight," Darcy panted, resting her sweaty head against his shoulder.

Clint's chest rumbled with an affirmative and he stroked her hair. "Yeah, especially when I win."

"Excuse me? But you _did not_ win."

"You messed up the board. A clear forfeit if I've ever seen one."

Darcy humphed and straightened up to level him with an icy blue glare. " _You did not win_ ," she repeated darkly.

"How about a tie?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! And make sure to check all the other works under this challenge. 
> 
> Because hot damn...


	3. Day Three: Sex With Pet In The Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy and Natasha have a weekend all to themselves... expect for the bird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off a story told to me while I worked at the local humane society. 
> 
> A cautionary tale of sorts.

Talk Birdy To Me

“Mmmph wait stop,” Natasha mumbled, reluctantly pulling away from her girlfriend's mouth peer over her shoulder. The warm, wandering hands that had made their way under her bra stopped dead and retreated. “ _He’s watching us again._ ”

Darcy frowned and twisted around to follow the redhead's gaze, seeing the cause of the distraction and holding back a laugh. “He’s a _bird_ , Nat. Who cares if he watches? It’s not like he understands anything.”

A single, perfectly sculpted raised eyebrow was her only response. It was a feat Darcy had often enviously wondered at during their relationship; Natasha’s delicate balancing act between beautiful and lethal. Even the woman’s eyebrows looked sharp enough to cut a man.

"I can try something."

"Thank you,  _Pchelka,_ " Nat pecked her sweetly on the lips before giving her a gentle shove towards the problem.

Darcy sighed. Part of her always melted a little whenever Natasha broke out the Russian pet names. A bit of the past the infamously enigmatic woman only shared with her. It made it impossible for Darcy to deny her _anything._

She stalked, in her underwear, over to the corner of her loft where Clarence the parrot was temporarily stationed. He was staying with her while her great-aunt was off boozing it up on a month long seniors cruise through the Caribbean. To put it lightly, he was a fucking menace, a huge, grumpy old thing that hated Darcy just about as much as she hated him. But she'd drawn the short straw among her cousins so alas, she was stuck with the angry lump of feathers. 

It wouldn't have been as big of a problem if Clarence's visit didn't correspond with  _the one weekend_ Natasha was home in what felt like an eternity. They hadn't had more than a few rushed, stolen moments in months and Darcy had no intention of either of them leaving the bed or putting on clothes. She had even gone to the grocery store beforehand to stock up on food and supplies. Natasha was not to be shared with anyone else, barring alien invasion or killer robot attack. And even then, Darcy wasn’t giving her up without a fight.

If only the feathered interloper would mind his own damn business.

“ _Who’s a pretty bird?”_ Clarence squawked at Darcy as she approached, then he started to laugh in an eerie imitation of Great-Aunt Esther. All the Lewis women had that laugh, a  sort of hoarse cackle. It was unnerving coming from a bird. 

“Sorry not sorry, buddy, but you’re killing the mood so…” she threw the nighttime blanket up over his cage.

The parrot screeched once indignantly, then went quiet, the blanket doing its job and making the bird believe it was time to sleep.

“Better?” Darcy turned back towards Natasha with a hopeful look. Her jaw just about hit the floor at the sight. She'd taken advantage of Darcy's absence, shed the last of her clothes, and was reclining back on the pillows. Stretched out like some alabaster jungle cat.

“Mmm yes," she practically purred, sending a whoosh of heat down Darcy's belly. "Now get back over here.”

* * *

Natasha had all but forgotten the bird by mid-morning the next day. It was hard to concentrate on such things when her stomach was pleasantly full of homemade buttermilk pancakes and Darcy was between her thighs, teasing and licking her to the brink of bliss.

So Clarence spent the rest of the time out in the light, singing to himself and whistling at his own reflection in the window.

And Darcy got to spend the weekend tangled up in bed with the woman she loved more than anything.

What had seemed like a crisis wound up little more than a tiny inconvenience.

Until-

" _F_ _uck yes, yes yes yes. Who's a pretty bird?"_

Darcy had just shut the her front door, still a little dizzy from the lingering goodbye kiss she shared with Natasha, when Clarence started talking. She spun around so fast her neck cracked.

"Oh god no." 

The parrot squawked again, happily bobbing up and down from his perch in his cage. " _Fuck_ ,  _harder harder harder."_ He must have interpreted Darcy's sputtering panic as encouragement (or he truly was just a dick) because he just kept on talkingAnd -dear god, no- _moaning_. Or his creepy bird imitation of moaning. _Darcy's moaning._

She flopped face first into her bed and screamed into the pillow that still smelled like Nat's shampoo, while Clarence continued his own rendition of her erotic weekend with her girlfriend.

Great-Aunt Esther was going to have a conniption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today was a long day, so only a short one. Hope you liked it! 
> 
> I remained utterly flabbergasted that y'all read and enjoy the things I write. 
> 
> <3


	4. Day Four: Must Include Bike Horn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott Lang is stupidly sweet and Darcy thanks him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another brand new pairing for me (and first time writing Scott), so be gentle. 
> 
> Also, I adore the headcanon that Darcy is Tony Stark's daughter and worked it into this story. I know people ship her with Tony, so I'd thought I'd add an extra little warning in case you missed it in the tags. Don't want to skeeve anyone out.

Let Me Give You That Beep Beep 

Off all the things Darcy expected to find when she walked into Tony Stark’s lab (and she’d seen some _things,_ just ask her very expensive therapist), it sure as hell wasn’t her _boyfriend_ hunched over one of the workbenches, tinkering away like he belonged there.

Which he didn’t. _Oh boy_ , did he not belong there. Of all the places in the known universe, Tony Stark’s lab was most definitely the one in which Scott Lang did not belong the most.

There were several reasons why; the whole Hank Pym history, the time that Scott broke into one of Tony’s facilities and got away with it, the fiasco at the airport, the fact that Tony _did not share his toys_.

But the main, life-threatening, certain doom reason Scott really would be safer on _Jotunheim in a Speedo_ than in Tony Stark’s lab, uninvited no less, was that he was caught canoodling his daughter a week ago.

To be clear, it was consensual canoodling. Darcy herself had initiated it and the pair had been meeting in secret specifically for canoodling purposes for nearly a month.

But Tony, in true Stark fashion, overreacted. Big time. For a guy with a gigantic brain, Tony sure could be a colossal idiot about certain things. He got one little glimpse of Ant-Man’s grubby, buggy mitts on his precious baby girl and all rational thought left his body. He had actually tried to physically fight Scott, no suits or fancy gadgets, just ready to bareknuckle _fight_ a teammate in a storage closet. (Steve had to be called in to literally pick Tony up and carry him away. It was not a proud moment for the Stark-Lewis family)

Eventually, after Rhodey and Steve talked him down off the cliff, Tony calmed down enough to speak with his daughter about the issue, explain his objections and (sort of) apologize for making a scene. Darcy, used to her father’s flair for the overdramatic, took it all in stride, demanding a new phone for her troubles, and went off to find Scott.

Luckily, he wasn’t the type to let a billionaire threatening to punch his face in scare him off. Darcy got the idea that it wasn’t the first time a girl’s dad had taken a swing at Scott.

A detente was reached between Ant-Man and Iron Man the next morning during breakfast.

However, that _absolutely_ did not mean that Tony wouldn’t go totally nuclear if he found Scott touching _his_ stuff in _his lab._

“Do you have a death wish?” Darcy hissed, dropping the files Pepper had bribed her into getting her dad to sign. She ducked down and scanned the lab nervously, like she was in a war zone waiting for a bomb to go off.

“Oh hey, babe. Tony’s not here.” Scott flashed her a goofy grin before going back to whatever project he found worth risking life and limb for.

“Not physically here, but Friday, the sensors, the - how did you...?” The lack of alarms blaring and lockdown procedures was just dawning on her. “You didn’t.”

“It wasn’t hard. Friday has an override and Tony leaves palm prints everywhere. Glass walls really weren’t the best choice.”

“Scott! Are you trying to give me an ulcer? He’s gonna find out about this and freak out. We have get out of here.”

“Almost done, just one last - bam! Check this out,” Scott put down the soldering gun he _borrowed_ and beckoned Darcy over with a tilt of his head and a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Check what out, Emeril Lagasse?” Her curiosity over what in _Thor’s Majestic Manbun_ was so goddamn important won out over her need to keep the peace between boyfriend and father. She walked over to the workbench, even accepted the invitation to sit on Scott’s lap, while he showed her what he was working on.

“You jest, but the man makes an excellent pasta e fagioli."

"I know, he catered my sweet sixteen. Gotta a rich dad, remember?"

 "Hard to forget," Scott scoffed, then focused back on his project, thrusting an odd looking instrument under Darcy's nose. "Hey, so what do you think, pretty cool right?” He was bouncing with excited energy. Darcy had to hold on to the chair’s arms to avoid being bucked off his jiggling knees.

“Uh…” She stared at the _thing_ in his hands then looked back to his face. “So cool. What is it?”

“It’s a bike horn,” he explained, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Darcy thought it looked more like janky bluetooth speaker with a weird tail.

Then Scott squeezed the bulbous end of the tail and it emitted an ungodly loud _beeeeeeeep_ , like a full size Dodge Ram was angrily honking in her face. Darcy’s ears were ringing.

“WHY?” she might have shouted, her hearing very much not a fan of the new horn.

“SORRY! SHOULD’VE POINTED IT THE OTHER WAY,” He yelled back, feeling Darcy groan and slump in his lap. It took a moment for their ears to recover, then he tried again. “It’s for your bike. You told me the other day about that douchebag in the City that nearly ran you over and that the little bell was too puny to express your rage, so I - oof.”

Darcy cut him off by twisting around and throwing herself at him in a hug. “You broke into my dad’s lab to make me a bike horn because drivers in New York are douchebags?”

“Ha, yeah, well it sounds a bit silly when you say it like that, but -” Again he was cut off, but this time with her lips smushing against his. Scott went with it, threading his hand through her silky brown hair and chasing her tongue with his until she pulled back with a watery smile on her face.

“That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.” She kissed him again, a soft little peck that mirrored her words.

“Aw, it was nothing really, Darcy. Just some stuff I found lying around - wait, alright alright I’ll get out of here.” Scott thought they were having a _moment_ and then she was sliding off his lap and jumping out of his grasp. He sighed and made to get up, but she shoved him back into the chair. “Wuh?”

“How sure are you that Tony won’t walk in during the next 10 or so minutes?”

“Pretty sure. Once I got Friday on my side, I had her send him a message that the Fabricator’s cooling unit was on the fritz. Diagnostics should take a least another half hour, and that’s _if_ he finds the washer I jammed in it.” He sounded so damn pleased with himself, outsmarting Stark tech. “ _Why?_ ”

“I just wanted to thank you for such a thoughtful gift.” Darcy dropped to her knees and Scott gulped, like a cartoon character. “And I'd rather not be interrupted again.”

“For the record, I didn’t do it for a _thank you_ . Not turning down the _thank you_ , God you are so good at _thank yous,_ but you know, want to make that clear. No _thank you_ necessary.” His voice definitely did not crack like a pubescent 12 year when Darcy ran her nails up his knees and cupped him through his jeans.

And the whimper when she unzipped the jeans and snaked her hand into his underwear to gently squeeze his rapidly growing erection? Totally not him either. Can't prove it anyway, he had disabled the cameras.

“I like giving you _thank yous_ , Scott.”

Okay, the broken moan when she pulled out his cock and licked the tip like a rocket pop _was_ him. No use denying it. Darcy had an extremely talented tongue. And frankly, it would have been rude not to voice his enthusiasm at such a performance, like not slurping the noodles at a ramen restaurant. He was being _polite._ "Fuck, Darcy."

She responded with a moan of her own, the vibrations of which Scott was sure he felt in his actual  _soul._  

Darcy really did enjoy giving head. It was part power trip, part genuine satisfaction at making someone  _feel good._ She got off on it, especially with Scott who was so receptive he practically turned to a groaning mass of human putty under her care. She relaxed her throat and took him in as far as she could, the rough thatch of hair at his pubic bone  _just_ tickling her nose before her gag reflex forced her to pull back. He let out a hoarse shout.

" _Jesus._ " Unsteady hands swept the hair from her face and held it back so he could see her face. See the filthy picture she painted, on her knees with her pretty plump lips around his cock. She hollowed her cheeks and sucked, and his entire body shuddered. 

He didn't last long, not when she started rolling her tongue and humming around him. Scott tried to warn her, pulling at her hair and trying to find the words in his seemingly bloodless brain, but she kept going. Took him deep into her throat again and swallowed around him until he came so hard his vision whited out. 

"Thank you, Scott," Darcy said sweetly, wiping her mouth discreetly on the back of her hand. She stood up to press a tender, closemouthed kiss to the goofy, blissed out smile on his face.

"All- all in a day's work ma'am," he garbled out, reaching for for her blindly with fumbling hands. Darcy grabbed them and hooked them around her waist.

"Did you just 'ma'am' me?"

"Wha? Sorry." Scott leaned forward and pillowed his head on her breasts. He felt her little laugh more than heard it. "I think you sucked my brain out."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just barely making the midnight deadline for this one. 
> 
> Hope you liked it! The reception to these silly fics has been amazing. Thank you all so much and see ya tomorrow <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'm going to try for all ten days of this challenge. Wish me luck?
> 
> Kudos and comments are always loved and appreciated, as are all of you readers <3
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr @citywallandtramampoline


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